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Mom grieving her dog’s fatal accident

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tall (1)


Empty Space

What am I doing here

where clocks insinuate time

and heads mutter to each other

and nod

as though they understood anything.

It happens again and again,

in and out of sleep,

reiterated infinite fractal:

something there and then immediately


How can nothing

make such a difference.

It is just a space, a fault,

waiting for quick hands

to stop remembering,

when they no longer hold it

but become it.


Author: biochicklet

Scientist raised by intellectuals on poetry, theater, art, history and music in New York City. Escaped to New Mexico to nature and mysticism. Knowing that the absurdities in this life are what we must laugh at.

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